After the Terror
by McMoni
Summary: A WHN to "Flags of Terror". The hostages have been rescued and the terrorists arrested. But is it really everything alright? H/C one-shot.


_**AN: My take on what should have happened at the end of to season 3's "Flags of Terror".**_

_**Special thanks goes to meixel, who kindly beta'd this for me, and to Tanith2011 who help me find the title and encouraged me to post it on FanFiction.**_

_**Dedicated to all the ladies on the SOSF Yahoo Group for their friendly support.**_

_**Disclaimer**: I don't own "The Streets of San Francisco", the characters, the locations or anything else related to the show. I'm just borrowing Steve and Mike for a little fun; but I promise I'll return them (more or less) intact when I'm done playing._

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**After the Terror**

Mike silently watched as Kerry Martin, the young ballerina, signed her statement. He had spent the whole afternoon hearing from the hostages and taking their statements, and Kerry was the last one. She put down the pen, a small, nervous smile on her lips, her right hand slightly trembling; evidently the terrible experience she had just lived was starting to take its toll on her.

"You're fine, Miss Martin?" Mike gently asked her. "Do you want to call anyone to take you home? Or one of my men could drive you."

"It's alright Lieutenant. My aunt lives here in San Francisco; I already called her, she's on her way here," she quietly said. "And how is the Inspector? Is he feeling better?"

Mike frowned, startled by the question. "Fine, I think. He's in the other office, writing the report. Why?"

"Well, he took quite a beating, earlier. On the boat. When I had to...when I had to read the number on the bomb. He was trying to distract them."

Mike closed his eyes, taking a deep sigh. _Such a good friend I am,_ he bitterly thought. _'_Create a diversion'_, _Steve had called it, and Mike hadn't even cared enough to ask for further details. He shook his head, annoyed at himself for not having noticed anything wrong, for not having even thought about it.

He looked at the young, worried woman and he helped her to the door, trying to hide his own concern behind a reassuring smile.  
"Don't worry, Miss Martin, I'm gonna take care of him."

OOOOOO

Steve's gaze was fixed on the paper in his hand, the report he was supposed to be working on. After reading the same line for what seemed to be the tenth time in a row he had finally given up, succumbing to tiredness and pain. Work could wait until tomorrow.

He looked up and let his gaze wander around the office. It was empty, due to the late hour, but he didn't care. Actually, he was relieved; he wasn't really in the mood for noise or conversation, and he knew he wasn't probably looking very hot at the moment, either.

His ribs had started hurting a couple of hours ago, along with the bump on his head -courtesy of Sonny the terrorist - and the pain had gotten worse since then. Now breathing, too, was proving to be difficult, and definitely painful.

He put the unfinished report down and tiredly rubbed his eyes. The mild, ever-present smell of coffee, usually so welcome and familiar, was making him slightly sick, and he could feel a fine sheen of sweat forming on his face. He considered getting up and going to the restroom to splash some fresh water on his face, but quickly discarded the idea. He was too tired and sore to get up and besides Mike was going to take him home very soon. Hopefully.

He stifled a sigh - better not stress his poor ribs too much- and carefully leaned back on the chair, closing his eyes.

OOOOOO

After walking the young woman to the waiting room downstairs , Mike quickly headed towards the office.

Mike immediately spotted his younger partner, sitting at his desk, and grimaced noticing Steve's pale and sweaty complexion. How could have he missed all of this?

"Steve? You OK?"

The younger man immediately opened his eyes, startled by the unexpected noise. "Hey, Mike. Yeah, 'm fine."

"Sure you are," Mike snapped, guilt and concern making his tone harsher than intended. He sighed, willing himself to calm down. "Honestly, Steve, how are you?"

The younger man looked away. "A little sore," he finally admitted, casually waving a hand in the direction of his midsection, obviously trying to deflect Mike's worry.

"Your little diversion, huh?"

"Yeah, well. I told you, Mike, Sonny was nervous. I just provoked him a bit, to distract him so Kerry could check the bomb. I just, uhm, probably provoked him a little too much. He got really mad and we fought."

Mike approached the desk, a mirthless laugh escaping his lips. "You were handcuffed and he was armed. That's not a fight, it's a _beating_. There's a difference, you know? That's why you're all banged up."

"I'm not _banged up_," Steve complained, but his protest was cut short as Mike gently helped him up.

"Yeah Steve, you're fine, you already told me. Come on, lemme see," Mike said, as he steered the younger man towards the light and helped him unbuttoning his shirt.

He hissed in sympathy seeing the angry, black bruises almost entirely covering Steve's torso. The Lieutenant stared at his partner, speechless, then rubbed a hand over his eyes.

"Steve, didn't you tell me?"

Again, Steve looked away, evidently embarrassed by his friend's concern. "Dunno. It didn't hurt at the beginning, really. Adrenaline, maybe. And then...well, I thought it was no big deal," Steve murmured, buttoning his shirt up and still avoiding Mike's gaze.  
He finally looked up, forcing a smile."Terrorists, hostages, bombs, shootings..I'm just tired, you know? All I need is a good sleep."

"No. All you need is a trip to the ER, Buddy boy," Mike corrected his partner, carefully helping him putting his coat on, "so that you can be checked out. You might have some broken ribs, it's not something to joke about."

"But..."

"But nothing. You should've told me earlier. Come on, let's get you to a doctor."

He lifted a hand to prevent any possible objection from his friend, and, putting an arm around Steve's waist to support him, slowly guided him outside the office.

OOOOOOO

After a couple of hours spent at the E.R., during which his poor torso had been probed, poked and bandaged, the lump in his head checked and drugs prescribed, Steve was finally discharged.

It was dark outside, probably past midnight, although he didn't know for sure. His watch had been broken during the fight, and it now lied useless in his coat pocket. Not that it mattered much; he just knew he was exhausted and was looking forward to some hours of sleep.

Mike had to be terribly tired, too, Steve realized with a flash of guilt. It had been a very long day for both of them.

He wordlessly sat in the passenger seat and rested his head against the car window, silently enjoying the fact that he could breathe again without feeling like he was being stabbed. It still hurt a bit, and he figured he was gonna be sore for the next few days too, but it was bearable now.

"You're feeling better?" Mike finally broke the companionable silence, making Steve smile. It often seemed that the Lieutenant could read his mind.

"Yeah, definitely. Dead tired, though."

"I bet," Mike smiled. "Exciting day, huh?"

"Probably exciting wouldn't be the first definition I would think of, but yeah, rough day," Steve smiled, glancing at his partner.  
He turned his head to the window again, just as Mike drove past Steve's house.  
"Hey! Hey Mike, that was my house," Steve exclaimed. "You missed it."

"Perceptive as always, Buddy Boy. I'm glad to see you haven't lost your touch," Mike teased him. Then, sobering, he added, "you're coming home with me tonight."

"Oh, come on Mike, that's not necessary. I can take care of myself," Steve protested. He had already caused his friend enough trouble for one day, trip at the E.R. included.

"You heard the doctor, Steve. You took a nasty hit on the head, may be concussed. And, besides, this way you can cook me breakfast tomorrow morning."

"I'm not concussed, Mike," Steve complained. "It happened hours ago. If I was, I would have noticed by now," he added rolling his eyes.

"Doesn't hurt to be careful," the Lieutenant stated as he parked in front of his own house, his conclusive tone preventing further objections.

"OK, you win," Steve sighed, mildly amused. He knew when to admit defeat. It wasn't the first time he spent the night at Mike's, anyway, and he guessed it wouldn't probably be the last. And after all it wasn't a bad thing, he mused, as he carefully eased himself out of the car.  
Mike was already at his side, ready to give him a hand and help him up the stairs.

Steve gladly accepted his friend's help and gently closed the car door, smiling softly.

It was nice having a friend.

_The end_

**_Reviews are and constructive criticism are always well accepted ;)_**


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